


maidens by the sea

by ameriboo



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pokemon Sun - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Injury, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/F, Historical Fantasy, Maids, Romance, Selkies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26958403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameriboo/pseuds/ameriboo
Summary: Lana leaves her home vowing to do right by her family in her new career. As lady-in-waiting to the fiancée of the Duke of Trovita, it is her responsibility to stay by the future bride's side and perform every whim. Quickly, she learns the young woman is not at all what she expected. To Lana, Misty is far more than just a bride.
Relationships: Kasumi | Misty/Suiren | Lana, One-Sided Kasumi | Misty/Ziggy | Rudy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	maidens by the sea

**Author's Note:**

> warning: i don't own anything.
> 
> it is a historical fantasy au!!! lets get into it

> **_I did not fall in love with the sea, I drowned in her._ **

"Welcome, Lana. As you know, as a lady in waiting, you will be providing comfort to Master Rudy's future bride." The old woman, the head maid Brutella, reaches to move the curtain and points out the window.

I stand up straight, look out the window to see a tall figure overlooking the sea on the shore. Her feet kissing the sea foam.

She looked not of their world with how far away she seems. It feels like I was admiring a painting from the back of a gallery.

"The girl is of no household. We suspect orphaned since young, or bastard born. The young master is private, but his younger sister, our lively Lady Marie is quite the storyteller. I will hear soon enough of her breeding and title." I catch the hitch of disgust in her voice. The fiancée not being from a noble background must greatly displease the traditionalists among them. It is peculiar for the Duke—an heir of a great title and fortune to pick someone beneath him socially and financially.

"Her name?" I question without proper thought. Internally, I curse at myself for not considering the old woman's take on freedom of expression. Her pink tongue sticks out slightly as she spits out. A spiteful woman.

"He calls her Misty."

. . .

I am the eldest daughter. Mother and father are seafaring folks—my father a dutiful and proud fisherman. Realistically, with his body failing him often, I became a sort of provider to my two younger sisters, Harper and Sarah. With a sense of duty to my home and my family, I protect them by providing what I can from this new work. I remind myself of these things as I dump soapy water on the floor, a hard scrubbing brush, and get on my knees to watch my reflection in the grime.

At night, I get my peace and I imagine what I will catch the next time I am able to go fishing. The seasons rotate in my head as well as my spots along the bay of where I grew up. I dream of my island and my mother's homemade stew sprinkled with spices gathered by my father but were picked for his wife in mind and heart. Fresh coconut milk topped with grated turmeric, a frothy wonder created by my Mallow, my beloved friend made of sunshine and hibiscus. My bay feels farther and farther with each passing day. Looking towards my black and white uniform, I sigh deeply and reach for a hand held mirror, gifted to me by my mother and stare at my reflection. There are slight bags under my eyes, I think to myself as I pull on my cheeks. And freckles I don’t recall. My hair, as deep as a hidden cove in Brooklet Hill, sits at my neck. I remove my black headband and throw it to my nightstand then place my mirror beside it gently. My mind travels to orange blossom season and how the bay must be preparing for its next festival. I wonder if I could swim back if I had enough stamina to make it. I turn over in my cot, pull my cotton blanket, and blow out the candlelight.

. . .

I almost trip entering the fiancée's quarters as the hem of my uniform skirt catches the tip of my shoe. Finding my balance while feeling red in the face, I am taken aback by the bareness of the room. A few heirlooms and oil seascapes litter the space but all except for the sunlight breaking through the window, it was lackluster and plain in color. A guest room rather than a proper boudoir fitting of the future Duchess of Trovita.

A tall woman stood facing the window. Her hand stiff against the glass as soft midday beams kissed her frame.

"Miss, this is Lana. We hope she is a beacon of support for you."

Brutella's crooked smile is fake but her voice painfully pleasant. The fiancée's arms fall as I bow to her back, my head down and eyelids shut. I open my eyes to find a young woman looking over her shoulder, her gaze on me.

My shoulders stiffen under her looming stare. Those eyes, the color of sea green, flash with suspicion as I somewhat falter. She blinks at me before turning and circling the room then walking forward, almost as she was swimming awkwardly across rather than a direct walk towards us. My attention trails her as she edges closer, her feet gliding with intent. Wild locks of deep apricot hair flowing behind as the scent of morning sea mist practically trail behind the girl. She halts right in front of me and stands tall, her legs long and dewy skin the color of a freckled peach. A clear and bright face with details and light marks and high brows. Her dress was white and airy. Fresh linen? I notice her gripping a pearlescent shell in her hand, tightening her hold on it before adjusting her arm close to her side as if the shell were something worth hiding. And, above all, she was barefoot.

I hold my breath, straightening my posture, and lift my head high.

"I am at your service, my lady."

The girl tilts her head in confusion.

"You're mine?" She asks.

I blink at the peculiar question. "I work for you, but I am not yours—"

Brutella unforgivably slaps me on the back with her cane. "My lady, please forgive her, our Lana is new and silver-tongued. I will see to it that her attitude is corrected before she is of use to you, I promise to you."

Ocean eyes flash. Lady Misty searches my face. "There is no need for that."

The older woman's upper lip twitches in annoyance. I swear I hear the faint sound of a pulsing vein bursting in anger coming from her forehead. "Of course," Brutella chuckles, her voice high as she smiled her frustrations away. "—Come, Lana. I will show you to the kitchen for a run-through of night operations."

I go to bow but am kicked out of the room with her cane striking my ankles. My voice cracks as I curse out and hiss, capturing a peak of her before the door is slammed behind me.

. . .

"If I were you, I would've hit her back."

I stand on a wooden stool, wobbling slightly as I patiently waited for her to raise her arms for me to exchange her dress for a nightgown. It takes minutes but eventually she submits, and I can finally dress her properly. Tonight, her nightgown is a light seafoam green silk slip. The lady's appearance is strong. Long, toned arms and shapely legs. Thickness to her muscles. The back of my hand grazes her bicep. The skin was as soft as mochi.

If the older hag didn't jingle my pay in her tattered pockets, I _would've_ hit her. I think of my sisters' rumbling bellies and swallow the lump in my throat.

"If you were me, you would know better."

She pouts and makes a noise with the back of her throat. "I apologize, that was your fight."

"My fight?"

"It is courteous to not take away someone's first motion in a battle. If it were to continue, then it is just of me to align with you. But you did not hit back, so I could not follow. It made me angry."

Master Rudy chose someone as foreign as her as his bride. Interesting.

I smile at her. "Take your anger and tuck it away for tonight, my lady. You should rest."

Her expression falls with disappointment, waving her fingers through her hair. She is not one to let things go. "Where would I even _take_ my anger?" A whisper to herself as she climbed into her modest bed.

I turn to close the blinds, but her voice stops me. "Leave them open."

"Whatever you wish," I respond and bow.

When I leave her, she is in bed facing the window, watching the moon as the ocean waves sang.

. . .

The next morning, I turn right down the hallway and find myself cornered by the Duke. I've only seen him from the far, but he smiles like any other man on the island. Inviting smiles hidden with intent. Dark eyes of obsidian flash as the young master raises his hand and greets me. In his arm was a bouquet. Calla lilies and viscarias. Beauty and will you dance with me?

Mallow would gift me a fried dough covered in honey for remembering flower language. She would be proud.

"Joyous morning, Lana. I hope life is treating you well and you are enjoying yourself here with us." Duke Rudy, formally known as Duke Rudolpho of Trovita, held his head high and proud.

I perk up at that he recognized my name. "Very much so, your grace." I bow, carrying his fiancée's tray of tea. Lavender earl grey.

"Oh Lana, let me help you."

"Your grace, it is quite alright—"

"Nonsense," assists the Duke, taking the tray of tea from my hands and handing me the flowers in exchange. "Please hold onto these. They are for Misty."

In matters of the state of Trovita, an island known for its rich culture of dance and spearfishing, I have heard from locals during my transition from Akala to the Orange Islands that the aristocracy are conservative. The sort to value tradition over ingenuity. Through the grapevine, I quickly discovered that the Duke and his sister lost their father two years ago and their mother three years ago, leaving the young Duke to inherit his title at a young age. His competence in his position quickly changed the island's perception of him to an unfit juvenile to a valued leader of not only his domain but of the entire island. That is until any future allegiance between families became impossible due to his fiancé's lack of nobility. It leaves me curious but baffled.

"I see." I cradle them gently, sniffing at the strong scent.

He huffs a strong laugh. "You find them overwhelming?"

"No, your grace."

I hold my breath as I count the seconds before we were in front of her designated room.

"I fear Misty may find them too much after all. She seems modest by nature. Choosing one of our guest parlors instead of the suite prepared for her." His eyes crinkle with happiness.

"It would seem so, your grace." A cold draft sends a chill down my spine.

"Hopefully, she finds herself comfortable," he says passively, staring ahead down the long hallway. "As her companion, I would like to extend a proper thank you to you and selfishly request that you come to me if you are ever in need of assistance. I hope that you value your time here and find yourself happy."

I look up at essentially, the man who is my employer, and gift him a confused smile. "How can anyone experience unhappiness when the sea is so near?"

He lifts a dark brow. "An ocean lover?"

"I am Alolan. The ocean is another home to us."

"My heart is close to the waters as well. This island has been our home for generations—I am part of it, and it is part of me. I offer a friendly ear if you find yourself missing your Alola."

"Thank you, your grace."

I sigh of relief as we step in front of the wooden door. He adjusts the tray to one hand and knocks before I had the chance.

"May we come in?"

No answer.

The Duke opens the door and steps in without hesitation.

"Good morning, my dear." Rudy greets his fiancée and places her tea beside her on the nearest table.

She is a curled lump in the middle of the bed. Tufts of burnt apricot stick out from some covers and she pokes her head out, spotting me holding flowers. "For me, Lana?"

"Yes, from his grace."

The Duke bows. "I was hoping to have tea with you."

Misty accepts the flowers, burying her face into them. "Lana must help me prepare for my morning first then tea."

The Duke burns brightly at her agreement. His demeanor shifting to that of a schoolboy flushed from an interaction with the object of his affections. Standing there—hands stuffed in his pockets and I catch the first true spark of life igniting across his face as she approached him. "Of course."

His eyes, full of want and devotion, trail her every step. Is this the feeling of uneasiness? My skin crawling as I feel the tension between a fleeting woman and the man that loves her.

I bow my head at him and follow her to the chamber.

. . .

"May I ask of the Duke's favorite attribute?"

"Of a woman?" The advisor raises an eyebrow. Visibly alarmed.

"Yes. Unless he is a dishonest man that assures that his eyes fail to notice physical appearance in favor of one's soul."

A cough. He is slightly panicked. "The young master is rather fond of long hair."

"Long hair? A bit pedestrian. Anything else that may be vital for me to maintain?"

I hold in my chuckle at the tone of her voice. Does she even realize this man might vomit from nerves at the way she looked at him, like a grub under her foot?

"Master Rudy accepts you and finds you beautiful—"

Misty gives him a knowing eye. "From what I understand of human customs maintenance is an unlisted virtue, sir."

"Very well," he chokes. "He finds the most respectable of women take proper care of their hands."

A pleasant smile breaks across her face. "Understood. Thank you for your guidance. I must go now but you've been a great help to me." Misty bows and turns. "—Lana, escort me to my bath?"

I nod and follow her. Tangerine strands trailing behind her. "Of course."

. . .

"You are small," she says out of the blue.

I perk an eyebrow, tilting the watering can over the anthuriums as Misty stretched her arms towards the sky, looking at me over her shoulder. The orchids surround her; she is draped in a carnation yellow day down, the hem dirty from her inability to avoid the mud and dirt from the garden. I promised the gardener, an older fellow who is suffering from severe sunburn, that I would take time to water what I can before the end of the day.

I give my lady a blank stare. "You find that a flaw?"

"Quite the opposite," she smiles freely. "Someone of your stature yet bold. A strong spirit. We value those like you in my colony."

It is the first I have heard of any part of her heritage. I fear pressing on would stifle the conversation. I eye her carefully, watching as she twirls her finger around a white orchid. "What…does your _colony_ do with those like me?"

I fail to hear her approach as she magically stands at my side. Quick fingers brush along my cheek as she slips something into my hair. Her voice is honey-like as she tells me, "Your choice—warrior or wife." I blink, reaching to the side of my head to find delicate flower petals. I drop the canister and the water splashes at our feet. Her sharp half-smile sends a jolt of warmth down my spine, my face burning but I do not dare move out of her gaze.

A giggle.

"You seem to be fit for both."

My face burns and burns.

. ..

Clumps of hair fall to the floor as she snips off one of her many beauties in a fatal swipe of some steel scissors. She is awkward with them yet her eyes don't leave the Duke's face as she snips away. Strands in the air like snow flurries. They stare at each other in heated silence.

I stand by the other staff as we watch breakfast turn to a standoff.

The Duke sighs. His knees almost give to a kneel but by the looks of it, his pride holds him in place. The man stands straighter, placing his arms behind his back. My eyes find her expression daunting. She was slipping closer and close to the edge. I fear he may be unable to follow her, to find her if he maintains such nature.

"My love," escape from his mouth like a fallen rotting mango.

Misty's ocean eyes sharpen into dark, haunting pools. The scissors unhinge and she slices the blade across her opened palm. Redness forms, dripping from her hand in defiance; she raises the freshly opened flesh like a king raises his scepter. My feet want to run but my judgment gets the best of me. She wouldn't want me to ruin the image of her bleeding in front of him. To bleed, to soil her appearance, was all her intention. But why do my nerves shake at the pain? My stomach churns and I want to go to her. I want to catch her hand in mine, hold it close, and hide her away from the critical mass.

The entire room looks at her like she is made of utter madness.

Master Rudy looks at her like she is a cracked porcelain doll. His doll. Listening to his orders for freshwater, medicine, and gauze—the staff scurry to appease him. He goes to her and presses one hand against her cheek and the other on her wrist, holding the cut away from her. Misty doesn't step away or falter under his touch, or his rampant worried words. An experienced maid orders me to fetch a broom and dustpan to rid of the mess. I bow quickly, watching as Misty's far off stare fails to reach her fiancé but then, only her eyes flicker to me as I ran past the mess she orchestrated. Brilliant, in my opinion, but still a mess.

In her eyes, in that untouchable deepness, I catch a hint of a glint.

. . .

"That was somewhat immature."

"I'd rather be an immature child then pretend to play wife." I roll my eyes as I even out her hair. Her overwhelming scent of coconut and sea salt makes my cheek flush. She smells like home.

"Do you believe the Duke considers your engagement as 'playing'?" I snip the scissors at her ends. Tangerine strands are taken by the wind, illuminated by the golden hour sun.

"I believe he is the type of man that does what he believes is right without thinking of the feelings of others."

"Maybe so. At least when you do whatever it is you want; you attempt to ask others how they feel. Once they tell you, you do it anyway."

"Lana, you tease me."

We were on a wool blanket on the sand, looking out to the horizon. It was early in the day, a hint of salt hanging in the air. The sea was roaring before us, waves dancing. It was beautiful. It was peaceful.

Misty, head up and straight, stares pensively at the open horizon. It almost as if she was waiting for something, anything to break the water surface. I turn my attention to what she was focused on and catch a gray head and dark eyes stare back at us.

A seal. Misty's head jolts when the sea critter dives back under.

Laughter arises from behind me as I turn to find Lady Marnie, dripping in an orange ruffled dress, rushing and thrashing about, kicking sand up in the air as her attendants in a frantic followed closely behind. "Misty!"

Lady Marnie lands on her knees clasping Misty's hands in hers. I take a stand, bowing at the young lady. She nods at me, her smile wide. A light greeting but then she turns to Misty, her golden eyes sparkling. Lady Marie's endearment and adoration for Misty could only be rivaled by her brother's.

"Misty, I've been looking all over for you!"

"You found me," she replies cooly, her hand brushing the top of Marnie's maroon head. Misty, despite her reluctance to the Duke's affections, managed to be on friendlier terms with his younger sister. Misty's sense of maturity varies on the day and even with her complex attitude towards Duke Rudy, she never seemed to have no ill towards his younger sister. She may understand the girl's focus on romantic ideals, leading the younger one to lack knowledge of life outside her cushioned walls. For Lady Marnie, life was teatime and dancing around after reading books meant for girls like her. Lucky girls, privileged girls of society that do not know yet that their lives were sculpted by men to limit their opportunities. A society that has a woman like Misty unable to refuse a proposal to a man she did not love.

I think of my younger sisters smiling up at me.

"Oh, your hair! What a tragedy!" The young lady cries out, aghast.

"It will grow back, I assure you."

Lady Marnie pouts. "I will miss it dearly. As will my brother!"

Misty's smile is strained as she cracks her knuckles in her fist. "Do you need anything, Lady Marnie?"

Her face morphs back to a radiant glee. "Oh yes! My brother wishes to accompany us to take a stroll to watch the sunset. He completed all his meetings early today. Isn't that just exquisite?"

Misty's eyes downcast, maintaining her expression.

A giggle erupts from the young lady. "He has a surprise for you, but he made me promise not to—" she whispers into Misty's ear.

"Marnie!" A shout.

The orange dress twirls as the young lady shoot up as eager as a jumping puppy. "Rudy! How exciting!"

I bite the inside of my cheek, eyeing the exchange of greetings between the engaged pair. Misty's spirits appear low as the Duke offers his arm for her to take. She doesn't utter a sound as she stiffly takes his arm. Lady Marnie takes his other arm, painfully dense and laughing vicariously about spring flowers ideal for a bridal bouquet. I am told to stay put, take time to admire the waters at sunset. I am told Misty's place is beside the Duke. That she is at her safest at his side. "Enjoy the waters, Lana," he orders me. The Duke's word is the law as the three of them take their walk. I remain, watching her back as she is escorted down the shoreline.

After all, she is my sea.

. . .

**Author's Note:**

> first chapter! let me know your thoughts and feelings. love you and love to lana and misty.


End file.
